Solitary
by Pippin's LadyKnight
Summary: TristranOC. Tristran's past comes back to haunt him... and trouble starts a rift between the knights set premovie And a dangeous weakness in the Knightscout is growing...
1. Chapter one

**Solitude...**

Chapter One

His mother's face surfaced in his memory and clouded his vision. He was thirteen again. And the soldiers had come... Had finally come. They had a string of boys behind them, all grim faced, and tear-streaked. And the sight awoke a terror in him like none other.

He had raced towards his village on in a rush of terror, frantically searching for his own family. The others looked on, saddened, clutching their own children to their breast.

He remembered the sounds of that day vividly, though if you asked it of him now, he could not distinguish his father's voice from other men's. For all he could guess, when he thought of his father's wisdom, the voice speaking the words was Arthur's.

His memory showed him all of the things he had loved and lost... His mother, father...the baby sister he would never know, and her...Ina. The pang of remorse and guilt when he remembered her face still struck him hard and sharp...like the blade of a knife beneath his skin.

She had looked so like him, they were often mistaken for twins. With her small angular face matching his own, her straight sharp nose, and pert little mouth. The only things that differed between them were their eyes. Where Tristran's were dark brown and calm, hers were bright, bright green and flashing.

She had always been quick to anger...quick to lash out with words or fists, and she had been admired, though disliked, by the other children for her savage unpredictability. The day she and Tristran had met, both only five years of age, she had pushed him in the mud, and ignored him.

He thought often, that that was the day he knew he loved her.

They had been almost inseparable from then on. When he had been taught to ride a pony, she had stayed and protested, spooking the men's horses and boy's ponies until she had been allowed to join. Why one of the elders didn't just put a stop to her wild behavior, Tristran didn't know.

But perhaps, they knew she was destined for hardship, and allowed her to prepare in the ways she thought best. And so she was brought up mostly as a boy, the only thing distinguishing her from her fellows being her long thick braid of black hair, that she wore, ever growing it longer, until, at age nine, it had reached her tail bone.

Tristran loved that about her. Her hair. When she unbraided it, it turned wild, and took on the look of a horse's mane. And she would have no patience with it, always ripping a brush through it so fast, that he was surprised it stayed rooted in her head.

He had offered to help her once, and she had let him, plopping down cross-legged in the dirt without another word or protest, and handing him the brush. And when he had finished unsnarling nests, and tangles from who-knows when, there had been a curtain of silky black hair just brushing the top of the road behind her.

She had looked beautiful, and tendrils framed her face, making it look softer and less...wild. She had reached back then, with uncertain hands, running her fingers through it, and grimacing. He had sat behind her with a smile.

Then she had quickly and untidily braided it, whipping her hair back into its old frenzied snarled self, and whirled to a stand in front of him, and her green eyes had been heated with anger.

"You did that on purpose!" She had screeched at him, her ten-year-old frame livid with anger.

And he had sat there confused, the brush still poised in his hand, and the smile melting off of his face. "Did what?"

"Made me look like a _girl_!" She spat out the last word, and stomped.

"But you are a girl." He had said simply, and it seemed to anger her more.

"I know! I know okay? But every day people seem to think they have to remind me! Ina, you can't do that only boys shoot bows, Ina you can't go riding today, you know the rules, you have to help your mother with the chores...Ina, brush your hair, you look like a boy! But I thought you were different Tristran...I thought...I thought...you..."

But she had not been able to finish, the tears had choked the last of her words.

He had stared at her, dumbstruck, and when she realized he wasn't going to answer her, she had marched up to him and shoved him roughly, so he was flat on his back in the dirt. She loomed over him, eyes brimming.

"But what would you know about it! YOU get to be a knight. You get everything I ever wanted! So don't you EVER touch my hair again! You hear me, Tristran! If you touch it again... I'll...I'll cut the whole bloody works off, you hear me!"

And not waiting for him to answer, she had turned to hide her tears, and stormed away. And even though she was upset, and running away like a girl, he hadn't noticed. All he really paid attention to, was her threat. 'I'll cut it all off.' He had never touched her hair again.

Never, for he knew she would make good on her threat. And it seemed to build a wall between them. After that incident, she wrapped her hair into a large knot at the base of her neck. And when her mother presented her with a new dress, in red, the only color she hated, she had taken it with a forced smile, and worn it. Discarding her favorite old brown and faded one.

It had made him cringe to see her in it.

And then, when she was twelve, she behaved like she was told too. Always helping out and smiling at boys, and visitors. And Tristran had been the only one to notice that the anger in her still smoldered beneath the surface.

And at thirteen, she had wholly ignored him. Not even sparing a passing glance, no flash of her even, white teeth in a savage grin. No pressure of her palm of his back, ready to push him face first into the mud...nothing.

And then came her hardest blow... It was midsummer's eve, and he had searched for her, hoping to steal a kiss, and perhaps erect a truce with her...

To finally end the hard feelings between them that had grown so large with time.

And he had found her.

She had been pressed against a tree, her face and Mikhil Boden's joined together in a kiss. But that was not the worst of it...One of Mikhil's hands had been twined in her long, and loosed jet hair, and the other had cradled her one of her newly formed, and finally noticeable breasts.

She had let HIM touch her hair and her body, but threatened Tristran that'd she'd cut off her jet black mane if he even brushed it with his fingertips.

And He had stood there, hurt and confused, when she had opened her eyes. They were dark, and sad, but when they found Tristran's...something else had surfaced in their depths...REVENGE.

And He, not knowing what else to do, had turned and walked quietly away, and burying his feelings for her in the deepest chasm he could imagine, he vowed to be, and continue to be, solitary till the day he died.

That morning... the soldiers had come. He had spotted them from the back of his sturdy and quick-witted mare. And his heart had sunk into his belly. Ina's words from so long ago rang in his ears, "YOU get to be a knight."

And when he had finally made it back to the village, in a wash of terror, and confusion, his mare frothed with sweat, she had been the first person he saw. Her hair was back properly tied in its place, and her eyes were flat and emotionless. He hadn't needed to tell HER that the soldiers had come, she could read it off of his features.

Then he had shouted for his family, and they had come running out of their small sod hut, soon to be a little emptier. In his mother's arms, his tiny sister, Bajarni, wailed her protest. He dismounted quickly, and announced "They have come."

And the next few minutes went by in a blur of sorrow, and packing. His bow, and clothes, and blade, all strapped to, or in a pair of saddle bags. When all eyes turned to his horse.

His proud mare was breathing heavy; her coat blotched with sweat. And one of her forelegs was slightly raised off of the ground. He vaguely remembered her stumbling on their retreat home, and his heart sunk lower as he realized she would never make the journey. One more thing Rome had robbed him of.

His father had walked up then, a young, dark stallion at his side. And his mother, having passed Bajarni to a neighbor, unsaddled his mare, and quickly settled the tack upon the new horse. And within minutes, Tristran had been seated upon him.

The soldiers topped the crest. He tugged on the reigns and felt the tears prick at his eyes. This horse was sensitive and moved with the slightest pressure. Not like his mare, who made him work to get her to do anything.

He had loved her stubbornness, and had looked forward to battling with her, and having her to distract him. Now he had nothing. He ran a hand roughly across his eyes, and swallowed his tears.

Tristran scanned the crowd silently, and picked out Ina's face. It was blank, and stony, and her eyes locked with his. Then, reaching back, she had pulled her hair free, and allowed it to spill in a curtain around her, settling wildly.

She kept their eyes locked, and her arms dropped back to her sides, and she stood there staring at him, and said not a word in solace, or farewell.

And Tristran saddened even more, turned his gaze back to his parents, and leaned down to kiss his mother's forehead and her eyes were over bright with tears as she looked at her son, her first-born.

His father had come close, and whispered words of wisdom, but now, Tristran could not remember what they were... and had patted him lovingly on the back. And then, Tristran turned and trotted towards the hill.

There was no call of victory for him, no shout of farewell, just stunned and perhaps relieved silence...Now that the day had finally come. And he had fallen into line, not a question asked, and his long journey of bondage to the Roman Empire began...

OOO

"Tristran!" Gawain said sharply. And with a snap, he was pulled from his daydream.

He was back in the dingy stables of the inn they were staying at, his hand still poised above his stallion, brush in his palm. He dropped his arm to his side, and turned to look at the redheaded man in the next stall.

"You coming?" Gawain continued, and he nodded, setting the brush down, and schooling his features to blankness. Gawain chuckled, and ambled out of the barn, eager to get into the bar, and find a woman to dandle.

Tristran shook his head clear of the thoughts of home, and walked slowly after him, liking the way his footsteps crunched the remaining snow on the ground, that had escaped the warmth of spring.

He wondered what was wrong with him. He had used to care when he caused others pain. Had cared about women, and drinks, and glory. But lately, all that loomed before him...was his self-induced solitude.

He was twenty winters old, and fit. Taller than most men, and his beard had come in fully. It had been seven years since he was snatched from the place he had known since the day he was born, and he hoped in seven more, all the now painful memories of it, would dissipate completely...

When the warmth and smoke and laughter reached him, and his footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, he realized his time would have been better spent bonding with his horse.

With a sigh, he walked up to the bar, repelling the glances of the women near him with his stony face and silence. They soon realized that he wouldn't be wanting company in his bed for the night, and pouted.

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, in light of their disappointment, and he asked the bartender quietly, if he had any apples. The man nodded, and tossed him one, a bewildered look on his face. And Tristran thanked him, and went to an unoccupied chair close to the fire.

He pulled out his dagger, and began slicing away, eating slowly, and watching the faces of the others in the room...

Lancelot was playing at dice with a couple other men, a buxom redhead in his lap, and apparently doing so well in the game, he was soon accused of cheating. Lancelot smiled. And Tristran itched to tell him not to be so cocky.

Then his eyes sought out Bors...who was drinking close to Dagonet, whose face was somber as always. While Bors's was taught with lament for Vanora, though he would never admit it. And Arthur, seemingly sorry for him, tried to strike up a conversation, and bring him out of his glum retreat. Tristran looked away...

Gawain and Galahad were engaged in a knife throwing contest, demonstrating their skills, and showing off for the brunettes who were seated nearby. He shook his head as he noticed them both watching Gawain rapturously, their eyes alight... and wished Galahad solaces.

He started, when his solaces took the shape of a jet-haired woman. And his heartbeat quickened. But he swallowed his hope when the woman turned, and he caught sight of her full, heart-shaped face. And cursing silently, he pushed his chair back roughly and got up to go back outside.

The apple had gone sour in his mouth, and he decided to give the rest to his horse...

OOO


	2. Chapter two

OOO

Chapter Two

At first he thought there was a man in his horse's stall.

But as he continued to walk silently, his scout trained eyes picked out the curve of hips and buttocks, against the background of her green cloak.

She was standing with her feet placed slightly apart, to keep her balance, and his stallion's head was nestled against her shoulder. She stroked his forelock with a delicate, small-fingered hand and whispered into his ear.

Tristran continued to walk towards her, keeping his approach as silent as he could, and when he was close enough to reach out and touch her, he stopped. And strained his ears to hear what she was saying, but her words remained a mystery to him.

Her hair was short. So short, if you saw her from behind, or afar, she could be mistaken for a man. It was black as jet, and straight as an arrow, sticking up in points here and there.

She reached her other arm up, tucking its fellow beneath his stallion's chin, and he saw the leather of a bridle in her hand.

Tristran stepped forwards angrily, and latched onto her wrist. She gasped in anger and surprise, and her fists uncoiled, letting the bridle slip from her fingers. Tristran, with his free hand, yanked open the stall door, and after pulling her roughly from within, he slammed it shut.

His horse whinnied with surprise and fear, and he lashed out with his hooves in anger sending chips of wood, and straw flying.

The woman in his hold gasped again in outrage, and slammed the flat of her hand against his chest, not even trying to pull herself free of his bruising hold. "You're scaring him!" She yelled, and reached straining, towards the frightened horse that was now trembling, with eyes rolling in his small stall.

Tristran jerked on her arm, and she pulled back roughly, throwing her weight into it, and making him lean. He whipped her to him, and crushed her against his chest, the top of her head right below his chin.

"You were trying to steal my horse...why?" Asked Tristran dangerously. The stallion was all he had left of his village. His one link to his past.

"I wasn't. I only wanted to see him." The woman answered, pushing against his arms.

"You lie. You had a bridle in your hand."

"I...I only wanted to..." She started.

But heated, Tristran answered, "To what? Steal him!" He pinned her to him with one arm, and with his other, he freed his dagger. "Tell me why I shouldn't just save the magistrate the trouble, and cut off your hand right here?" He hissed in her ear.

She stopped struggling, and answered coldly, "As you wish."

And Tristran halted. He hadn't expected that. He had thought she would fight him, striking out uselessly in terror, and giving him a taste of her fear. But instead she stood there, languid in his arms, and he thought if she could of, she would have held her hand out for him.

He shoved her away from him in disgust, there would be no battle tonight...

She flew forwards, her lithe frame bending over the door of the stall. And stayed as she was, laughing as his horse moved forward to lip at her hair, and her neck. The stallion whuffed, and whinnied softly. And she straightened.

Tristran wondered bewilderedly why his horse treated her as if she were familiar. Then she turned, and leaning back, smirked at his face. Tristran's heart began to pound rapidly for the second time that night, and he took in her face quickly.

Her face had not lost the sharpness from her youth, though now her mouth was fuller, more sensual and her nose looked like it had been broken once...or twice. She had also gotten the ceremonial tattoos of their people.

Hers were what looked like a swipe of ink, going away, and up from her eyes, giving them a slanted, and exotic effect...Where his had been two quick bands of ink across both of his cheekbones.

He had received his when a boy of his village was said to become a man...at age thirteen. Whereas she must had gotten hers at fifteen...the proper age of womanhood, and the age when a girl becomes eligible as a bride.

Her green eyes became even more noticeable, and expressive because of it, and the ink accented the smirk on her face.

"You cut your hair." He said simply, schooling his features. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he sensed her getting angry. "Did it not suit Mikhil?" He asked again, if only to cause her discomfort. He was taken aback by the pain of her face.

Then she stepped forward, and slapped him hard, the sound of it ringing in his ears. She still said nothing. Tristran resisted the urge to lay a hand on his stinging flesh, and stared at her. "Have I said something wrong?"

She shook her head. And he asked, "Why have you come?"

She shrugged, and when she answered, her voice was deeper, and more womanly then he remembered. "I had to give you something."

She walked calmly over to her bags that were discarded on the floor, then bent double and removed a coil of what looked like black rope. It was thick and braided, and wound with a leather strip to keep it in place.

She walked over to him, and pressed it into his hands. It was her hair. He looked up bewildered, and a little angry. "Why?"

"I told you not to touch it, don't you remember?" She said as if he should have known, not bothering to remove the knife-sharp edge from her voice.

"I...I didn't touch it. Not after you told me not to. I respected your wishes, I kept my distance." He replied coldly. How dare she just show up, like a demon from his past, come to torment him with words, and glances? To tempt him with her smile and eyes and body...

But she only nodded fervently, and continued. "You touched it the day they took you...with you eyes. And your sorrow. And I couldn't stand to have it trailing down my back day after day after day, a constant reminder of you..." She said sadly.

"I never wanted you to cut it." Tristran answered, letting it slip back and forth beneath his fingers.

"I know." She said hotly. "No one did. But after only two years of it...I couldn't take it any more. I had to get rid of it. Every time it touched my skin, I imagined you...your fingertips brushing over me...grasping me the way you did just now... leaving a bruise to remind me of your presence."

Tristran listened rapturously, and she continued. "I...I cut it after my fifteenth birthday. And I made sure to wrap it up tight and save it for you. And when everyone saw what I had done...they got angry with me. I suppose I reminded them all of you, and your mother slapped me when she saw it."

He shook his head, and imagined her walking out into the morning light, wearing the red dress that he hated, and everyone loved, with hair shorter then anyone's in the village...

"Mikhil hit me too. But HE waited until no one was looking. He accused me of ruining what we HAD. But I never thought he meant anything to me. He said it was a good thing I had done it now, because in a few months, I was supposed to marry him. And his didn't want to be married to a...a whore, he called me. I found out that day, that my father had already given him my hand. Which he threw back at me, of course." She said sharply, laughing.

"Then I left, and spent the next five years looking for you. By then your training was already done, and you were tearing across the country side, Knightly, and fighting for your cause." She finished sarcastically, and Tristran visibly flinched at the scorn in her voice.

He didn't know what to say. So he just looked at her, and her ragged hair that she obviously kept cutting, so it stayed at this length. But then, Ina was horridly good at keeping grudges...

Then she strode forward, and slapped him again, screeching, "Gods Tristran! You make me so angry!" His face stung once more, and he was reminded of when they were ten, and she had pushed him into the dirt after he had brushed her hair.

"I didn't do anything to you!" He shouted back at her. And the horses around them stamped, and whinnied in protest.

But Ina had already forgotten about that, as it seemed. Now she walked closer to him, and tilting her chin up, she started to speak...He could feel her breath on his neck and shivered. When he realized what she was saying.

"HIT me!" She commanded. And his eyes sparked with surprise. "No." He answered.

And she stepped back, regarding him coolly. "What's the matter, Sir Knight? Has it been so long since you've received a direct order? Has Arthur gone soft, then?" She said spitefully, stirring his anger more.

"I am not going to hit you." He answered, gritting his teeth.

"Why? Don't you HAVE to do what a Lady tells you, sir Knight? Or is that the problem, you don't see me as a LADY, do you?" She snapped. And he wondered why she was so angry.

He stood there, silent instead, and she continued. "I know I've made you angry, and I know I've caused you pain. Now I order you to cause me some." She said calmly, staring him in the eyes. But he was abstinent. And so she raised a hand, and slapped him again.

" I said, hit me!"

And by that point, he was so angry that...he did.

He slapped her with all his of his strength. Sending her face turning away from him, and breathing heavy. Afterwards, he stood there, hand still poised in the air, horrified at what he done. But she only straightened again, and faced him, her nose bleeding slightly, with the side of her face pink, and bruising, and smiled.

"Finally." She breathed. "Do you feel better, my old friend?" She said softly.

And Tristran stood there, still not understanding... ready to ask why, when she answered his unspoken question.

"We both know that felt good, Tristran. You and I...We mixed up pleasure and pain a long time ago." Her eyes glinted with pain-tears.

The sight sent Tristran awash in a wave of excitement and guilt...He had never seen her cry before...

OOO


	3. Chapter three

Chapter three 

He advanced upon her, like a predator, and enjoyed the momentary fear in her eyes. He grasped her harshly by the shoulders, and leaned in, so his mouth was next to her ear. "You wanted me to hit you?" He whispered dangerously. And she shivered in his hold.

He heard her lick her lips, and his eyes focused on her mouth. "Yes." She breathed.

'Why?" Tristran asked softly, his lips brushing the side of her face. He had waited so long for something like this...

His grip was hard, and she could feel small round bruises being imprinted into her skin. She pulled away, smiling, and his breath quickened as she struggled. "Release me." She said jaggedly, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

"No. Tell me why..."

"Release me," She said again, but her protest was weak. Her face dipped forward, and she stared at the dirt floor. But Tristran wanted to see her eyes...needed to see her eyes...

He freed one of his hands to tip her face up...and it was his downfall.

She twisted out of his uneven hold faster than he could blink, and danced away from him. He stared after her, and she loomed near the stable doors. Her breath clouding in the cold night air, and the moonlight glinting off her hair.

He stepped towards her, a wolf after a deer, but with a glance over her shoulder, and a smile twitching across her mouth, she ran...

OOO

Her steps were fleet, and her cloak flew out behind her in a ribbon of green, her slatted skirt slipping between her legs as they stretched out, pale in the light of the moon and stars, and her stride lengthened.

Tristran bounded after her, his lanky and braided black hair whipping around, and away from his face, and he envisioned her taking off into the sky, a black swan on smooth wings...she was so graceful.

He ached to have her trapped in his hold again.

She turned to him, still running, and he saw that she was wearing only a buttoned white shirt, tied at her hip to keep it from flying out open around her and allowing the frigid night air to whisk over her bare skin.

And as the curves of her breasts pressed against the thin white fabric, visible to him, he ran faster...She smiled wickedly...invitingly, at him, and sped up as well.

Then they were in the trees, and she was dipping this way and that, dodging behind the underbrush and her laughter echoed back to him, wild and sharp like he had always remembered it was.

His breathing was ragged with lust and running, and he was grateful she was wearing him out little by little. He knew if he caught her now he would hurt her. Really HURT her.

And then suddenly, there were no sounds of laughter or frenzied footsteps. He looked around, frantic, and angry...and scared. "INA!" He shouted.

But she didn't answer him. There was nothing. Just silence. No snapping of frost covered twigs, no echo of her mirth...he was alone, completely and utterly alone. He stood there, turning 'round and scanning the trees for signs of her presence.

"DAMMIT!" He crowed, and slammed his fist against a tree. He ran a hand across his forehead, brushing away the chilling sweat that was cooling there. The tears stabbed at the back of his eyes, and he damned her for hurting him like this.

She had flaunted the only thing he had pined after for years in front of his very eyes...

...Then vanished like smoke through his fingers.

He wanted to voice his torment and pain like the wolf...howling his sorrow to the moon, or like the majestic hawk...screeching her distress at the sky and tearing across it on blood red wings...

He had envisioned her beside him...Her face flushed, and her breathing ragged from lovemaking with him...Had seen her curled beside him like a cat, her head resting on his chest...listening to his heart. And he had allowed it to cloud his judgement.

He had allowed her to get away. And he hated himself for it. He hadn't even kissed her...He looked down, disgusted with himself. And with a savage roar, he tore off running again.

Determinedly willing the rest of his energy away, so that when he returned to the inn, and paid some woman to warm his bed, she would leave in the morning _alive_... and perhaps only minorly bruised...

OOOOOO

Lancelot and Gawain congratulated him in the morning, having seen him steal away Galahad's dark beauty and take her to his bed. But they knew little of the reasoning behind the act.

He had NEEDED someone that night, and it was only his predatory instincts gnawing at him, as to why he had stolen the girl from Galahad.

That and the fact that her raven hair reminded him sorely of the one that got away...

The Knights sat at the rough table, and drank mild tankards of watered down wine for breakfast, washing down their hardtack and talking of the night's conquests.

Gawain had gotten lucky, as it would seem...As Tristran had been right about the two brunettes. Galahad sulked, and clouted Tristran on the arm for his thievery. Tristran forced a sly smile, and turned back to his wine.

Arthur sat somberly, frowning at them all. For he was a Christian man; and didn't approve in the least, of their frivolous behaviors.

Tristran reluctantly scanned the room for Lancelot, whom he decided just hadn't awoken yet...and turned his mind back to the dark haired girl he had taken mere hours ago.

He couldn't even remember her name...But the fear in her crystal eyes had been intoxicating, and it had taken all of his will not to harm her.

Dagonet started to talk with Arthur then, and Bors, who came abruptly from the privy grumbling about light, with a massive headache from too much ale, soon interrupted them. Tristran laughed at his friend, and Bors swatted his hand at the noise, protesting wordlessly.

Dagonet scolded Bors soundly, and reminded him that he had told him Vanora would not be at the bottom of his mug...When again, in all abruptness, Lancelot walked in. He threw open the heavy oaken door, and cold morning air washed over their faces. Lancelot's brow was furrowed, and his gaze lingered on Tristran's face momentarily, before he turned back to Arthur.

He stormed over to them then, eyes flashing and murmured quietly, "There's been a problem in the stables."

Tristran was instantly alert, and his eyes narrowed. He knew what was coming next, and kicked himself for behaving so stupidly.

"A stable hand was found dead this morning. His throat was slit. And a horse was stolen." Lancelot's gaze flicked back to Tristran.

"It was a war-horse, one of OUR own destriers. Or, Tristran's, to be exact." He said, slamming his fist down on the table, and grinding his teeth.

When Lancelot lifted his hand, a fraying coil or raven hair, with bits of straw in it was laying upon the surface. Tristran's anger stirred at the sight of it and his eyes darkened...his blood, he felt, must be boiling in his very veins...

And it was only years of practice that kept him from emitting an unworthy burst of emotion. No, he had to keep his anger in check in front of the others, lest they discover how personal this attack on him actually was.

"This was found in the stall." Lancelot finished, and the knights were silent, as their gazes bore into the face of their irate and unpredictable comrade...

And Tristran had never felt so predatory in his entire life.

OOO


	4. Chapter four

Chapter four 

Tristran let the thick silence between them settle, as they gazed at him, questioning.

What was he supposed to say? Some crazy wench from his past showed up and managed to delude him, take him on a run through the woods, then double back and steal his horse?

A likely story...

No, so instead, he looked back placidly at each of them in turn. Galahad in particular held his gaze the longest. He was practically fresh from training, and a scar by his temple was still pink and new. But even he couldn't stare Tristran down...he shook his head and looked away.

Tristran felt his mouth twitch, and he quickly snatched the braid off of the table, enclosing it in a fist. He shoved his chair back and began to stand. But his silence hadn't been good enough for Arthur...

"Tristran, wait. We have a problem here, and it won't do any good if you just leave and go stomping about till you find something to take your anger out on..." He said calmly, his green eyes level.

"I'm not angry." Tristran said simply, and turned to go. That idea of Arthur's sounded particularly inviting at the moment...

"Yes...you are. And I have a sinking feeling you know the person who stole your horse. Now tell us. Who is it?" Arthur continued, and the other knights looked up expectantly.

"What makes you think I knew them?" Asked Tristran slowly, licking his lips, and trying not to clench his jaw.

"They left their mark, Tristran." Arthur's gaze pinpointed on the braid in Tristran's fist... "Either they knew you, or the want to know you. They identified themselves as the thief. You can't just ignore that..."

"Well then, Arthur, if you're so clever, you can tell ME who it was..." Tristran snapped angrily, and without another word, turned and stalked away.

"He knows something." Said Lancelot darkly, when Tristran was well out of earshot. He wasn't used to having information kept from him, and he didn't like it.

"Yeah well, even if he does...you'll never pry it outta that stubborn head a his." Bors said complacently. Dagonet nodded, and Gawain shook his head. Tristran wasn't the biggest talker among them by far...

"If he needs help, he'll ask for it. Until then, we'd best keep our noses out of his business." Added Galahad and the rest of them turned to look down at the 16-year-old youth.

"Such wisdom from someone so young," Said Lancelot with a smirk, and Gawain clouted him lightly on the shoulder. "Leave the boy alone, he's got a point." Gawain said mock-sternly.

Lancelot raised his hands in defeat and shook his head. The rest of them stood, and headed towards the door...all notions of breakfast long forgotten...

OOO

...Ina paused, and strained her ears for any sound...there was nothing, just the sounds of her own breathing, and the huffing breaths from Tristran's stallion. She patted him lovingly, and continued on.

She was still picking her way carefully, with her soft leather boots so as not to leave heedless tracks. She regretted stringing Tristran along...but it had to be done. And even though she would have rather shared his bed first...she had had to keep her mind centered on what she was doing. She couldn't afford to be distracted.

Distraction was what cost Tristran his horse, after all. She chuckled softly, and pulled her cloak more tightly about her.

Her mind drifted to the blue ink tattoo on her ankle. She knew it was there. It still throbbed with pain every once in a while. She itched to take her boots off and gaze at it...a small circle of thorns.

She thought of it as her life...never ending, with some smooth bits, before she hit another thorn. And this bit with Tristran...was one of the stickiest thorns yet.

She wondered what he would say if he knew she was counted as a rebel _woad_. Oh, she would never be one of THEM wholly, but honorary was quite enough for her.

Her eyes lit up as the pictured the inking that Merlin had promised her. She thought of something beautiful...a sun on her back...or an eagle feather across her shoulder...and shuddered with delight.

It had been almost simple. The _woads_ had told her where the knights would be, and all she had had to do, was slip in and take their scout's horse. Ina was positive they knew Tristran was not just a scout...but she didn't say so.

If she did, she'd have to explain how she knew...and drudging up her past with the most tight-lipped of the knights wasn't high on her list.

So she did as they told her, keeping her tongue, and not voicing her thoughts...

"You must take the white stallion. The one who is ridden by the knights', silent, dark-haired scout...This horse is most valuable to us, and must be retrieved." Merlin had said hauntingly. His graying hair a wild looking halo around his head.

She had nodded, and wondered why they wanted the horse so badly. But she knew if it was necessary for her to know, they would have told her.

"And YOU must not ride him. You will walk beside the beast, and bring him safely into our lands. It is vital, that you are not on his back..." Merlin had finished. And with his final warning delivered, she had been ushered out into the night, coins pressed into her palms, and a map in her bags...

She sighed now, and cursed him. Time spent with the woads was always interesting...but they tended to speak in their native tongue, and poke fun at her, behind her back or to her face, using complex phrases she couldn't comprehend.

Even their toddler's surpassed her in the knowledge of the language, and she knew it was no accident. She longed to return to her home, but that was a feat that only the dead could manage...

The village she had known all her life had burned to the ground three years after Tristran had been taken. All of their men slaughtered...their women, raped and left for dead...and the children stolen to be trained as servants, or sold as slaves. She had been one of the lucky ones.

There were two others, a little boy around seven and Tristran's three-year-old sister as well.

...A meager troop of survivors from their large and prosperous village.

She had been coming back from the mountains when the attack was launched...and she could see the flaming houses when she topped the hill...

The noise was horrendous, and still haunted her nightmares. Women screaming... ...babies wailing, and underneath it all, the sound of crackling flames, and the beating of human-skin-drums.

The Saxon band had been small...Only seventy, at most. But they left destruction in their wake that was devastating beyond the strongest storm.

Inara Chimaea had turned her horse and fled like a coward at the sight.

Her tears streaming down her cheeks in her helplessness. And hours later, when she had dared return...only bodies and charred remains had welcomed her.

She had searched futilely for any signs of life, or something useful. And her stumbling feet somehow lead her to the remains of Tristran's family's house. It was collapsed, and smoking. Though not as badly torched as some, and she had begun to rake throughout the mess with a vengeance.

It was not long after that, that she found his mothers body. The woman was burned black, and bloody, and if it weren't for the long dark singed plait of thick brown hair down her back, Ina almost wouldn't have recognized her at all.

She had reached out with trembling hands, and rolled the woman over...and underneath had been a sobbing, blood and soot covered Bajarni.

The little girl had clung to her mother's stiff body, screaming relentlessly, and lashing out with her feet. Ina had cried too, pulling at her roughly, and eventually, the little girl had let go and turned to bury her face in Ina's shoulder and her crying quieted to silent tears.

She had cradled Bajarni like a baby, and shushed her, then with jerky movements, she had fled the place.

In the woods, she had found the little boy. Huddled under the underbrush, tear streaked as well, and hollow eyed. She knew him as the smith's son, and recalled his name as Henri. And when she had reached out a hand to him...he had shied away like a skittish colt, but followed after her, hiding behind trees and out of her sight.

Days later, at dusk, the _woads_ had found them. She had built a small fire, and was trying to quiet the tiny three-year-old girl, and convince her to eat the mushrooms she had gathered.

But the child was obstinate. She missed her mother, and was wrung dry from crying for three days, and would rather die, than eat the cold fungus that Ina had dug up from the dirt with her fingers.

The men had melted into the firelight silently, and plucked Bajarni from her...Henri as well. They had looked at her with contempt, and obviously would have left her, if not for the protesting of the children in their grasps. Ina was not what they wanted. She was too old to make a suitable member of their people. She was almost a grown woman, tattooed, rebellious...afraid, and a fighter.

At sixteen, she was viewed as more of a nuisance, then a help. But squawking at her, in as best of the common tongue as they could muster, they returned Bajarni, and told her she was now a _woad_.

Though, servant to the _woads_ would have better suited her.

And so she did what they told her. And watched without protest as Tristran's little sister was raised as a rebel warrior. Strong and fast, and sharp faced like her brother, her striking white blonde hair and black eyes a prize among the rest.

And Inara (or Ina, as she called herself) if only to be allowed to stay, and watch her grow into the beautiful woman Ina knew she would become...did what they told her too.

Which recently was...to steal Tristran's horse.

And she had done it. The animal was safely at her side. And looking around and noting the small bits of blue dyed leather attached to trees and bushes...she knew she was home, in _woad_ territory now.

"Merlin! I am here...I have the horse!" She shouted uncertainly in their tongue. But instead of the many words of praise she had thought would be spoken to her upon her arrival, from the shadows of the trees...

...Only a silent rain of arrows answered her call...

She screamed.

OOO


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

Tristran sat stiffly upon the young mud-brown gelding he was given. The animal had obviously been treated badly as a colt. For now, when being ridden, He was either stiff and unreasonable or he shied away from the slightest movement. Either way, he had Tristran's mood darkening at an ever-increasing rate.

With a click of his tongue against his teeth, Tristran tried to steer the animal off the path...he wanted to ride ahead and check for Signs of Ina without the others watching him... The horse didn't budge.

Tristran jerked silently on the reigns, and the horse neighed loudly in protest and planted his feet firmly apart. Tristran felt like digging out a nice leather strap and teaching the stubborn beast a lesson...But he decided against it. Thinking of how, normally, he was good with animals.

One could say he was an animal person; he seemed to prefer their company to that of his fellows most of the time. He just knew them, knew what they wanted, or needed...praps it was because their silence twined his own.

He shook his head, deciding on a different tactic, and softly whistled a tune to distract his horse as he gently pulled on the reigns, and squeezed with his legs.

The horse's ears flicked back and forth as they took in the sound and his feet plodded off the dirt path almost unwillingly. Once they were far enough away from the others, Tristran surprised the animal and heeled him sharply into a trot.

Then he full out galloped across the green and frostbitten earth, forgetting for a moment, all thoughts of his long-lost link to the past...and of the woman who had caused it...

OOO

"MERLIN!" The word was torn from her throat in agony, as the kingly animal beside her buckled to his knees, and toppled in the dirt.

Arrows sprouted from his body madly, and his snowy and dappled coat was soon steaming in the cold, the fresh blood of his wounds staining the earth. Frantically, Ina yanked out arrows, pressing her hands to the wounds ...trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

She was still in shock. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her vision was blurry with tears. Her stomach contracted with sobs, and she felt like retching. Instead, she sucked back her tears, and tried to comfort the dying animal beside her.

"Shhhhhh...it's ok, you're ok..." She crooned brokenly, smoothing away his bloodstained forelock with a shaking hand. His eyes rolled, the whites exposed, and he gave a shuddering sigh, blood frothing on his lips and gurgling in his throat. She choked back a sob, as his legs thrashed out, and a stray hoof caught her in the face.

She felt a trickle of blood, and pressing her palm against her cheek, she then pushed her hand against one of his deep cuts, a broken arrow shaft digging into her hand... and mingled her own blood with the dying stallion's, and smearing his life's blood silently against her brow. The horse shuddered, and with the dimming of his eyes, he fell still, and silent.

Ina screamed…sobbed…beat her hands against his giving body. Her thin white shirt had become a crimson second skin, her skirt soaked rust red, and heavy with gore. She crawled towards his head, cradling it in her lap, and bending to kiss his still-warm muzzle. His head and body still held the warmth of his life, and if she closed her eyes, and felt the heat, she could pretend he was still living.

When she opened her eyes, Merlin and his archers surrounded her. He looked doleful, and almost a bit angry. She closed her eyes again, and wiped a hand across her face, smearing the drying blood with tears.

The gash on her cheek throbbed, and she wished it to scar, so she would remember this betrayal the rest of her countless days...

"Move away from the body, Inara." Merlin commanded. But still she sat there. She rocked a bit instead, pulling the stallion's head against her chest with her.

"Why?" She asked, and almost laughed at herself. She sounded like a foolish child...no better than the youths that had come to gather behind the archers.

"We must prepare the body, now stand aside."

"NO! I mean WHY did you kill him!" She screamed, and stood up abruptly, the horse's head landing with a sickening thud on the ground.

"You would not understand," Merlin continued. "It is written in the books of our forefathers what traditions..." But he was cut off.

Ina spat sharply at his feet, a great insult.

"You're forefathers! Not mine! NEVER mine! You deceitful man...you would have me bring an innocent animal to slaughter...over words prophesized hundreds of years ago!"

But Merlin would not answer her. He stood there, amidst the growls and warnings directed at her from the men around him, and said nothing… he only shook his head.

"You would not understand."

Ina shook with anger and pushed her way through the crowd, but not before locking eyes with Henri, the boy she had saved. He stared at her with all the contempt of the others, as if he were one of them...as if he had been born a _woad_. The bow in his hand was still strung, and hanging at his side.

She remembered pulling one of his hand-made arrows from the stallion.

He looked, in all aspects like he should, as a pictish youth, but for his hair, which had been neatly trimmed into obedience by Ina herself, just over a week before. His fifteen-year-old frame was livid with anger and shame...of her. And he turned his eyes away.

Ina stopped in her tracks, her heart compacting smaller with every beat. Bajarni ran towards her, her seven-year-old step fleet and light with her white faerie hair flying out behind her. But her "mother" snatched her up before she went more then twenty paces.

The little girl cried, and reached out...

A sharp tap to the back of her head silenced her, and her little face contracted, and became stony. "Enough Hasa!" The woman told her, using Bajarni's REAL (woad) name.

No one but Ina called her Bajarni, no one but the short haired young woman ever reminded her who she really was, secretly told her true tales, and made up fairy ones about her sharply handsome older brother.

The brother she had never really met, and didn't remember.

...Told her, whispered to her in her sleep, that she was not a _woad_...that she didn't belong with these people. Somehow hoping that the knowledge would create a wall between Bajarni and this race, to keep her from becoming one of them.

Now She looked at Ina angrily, and turned her face away, casting down her eyes. Ina locked gazes with the offending woman, who scowled, and strode back towards her home. Taking the languid snowy haired child with her. Ina turned away, and her eyes stung with fresh tears.

In the short time she had been away, the woads had managed to rob her of everything. Henri was ashamed of her, for not fitting in... He had often told her to look for a husband, suggested his friend's older brothers to her as suitors. But she would have none of them.

They saw her as a queer sort of conquest. Some prize...or animal to own...a horse with yet an unbroken spirit; unfit for a rider...Something else to master, and nothing more...

And now, Bajarni associated her with pain, and punishment. The innocent little girl, who could skin a rabbit faster than anyone, had been her last comfort. But they had managed to break that bond too.

Now, she would be lucky to get anywhere near her without a fight with the girl's mother...

Ina stormed through the crowd again, and shoved people roughly from her path. An uncertain laugh rippled through them at her anger, and it swelled, and gained strength. She kept her gait even, and disappeared out of sight, the sound of it ringing in her ears.

Once alone, and back in her singular hut, she cried in private, shaking with sobs and an effort to keep quiet, and all the while silently begging Tristran to forgive her...

OOO


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six 

Days passed, and Tristran began to lose hope of seeing his beloved stallion ever again. Ina had been too clever. Had really blindsided him this time. And hurt him beyond repair.

Now, he no longer envisioned her lying beside him, but more of him standing over her…sword in hand, as she begged his forgiveness. He gritted his teeth, and tilted his head back to glare at the sky. He glanced at a tree, and noted how the color of its branches mirrored Ina's eyes.

He ground his teeth again, and willed the thoughts away. Concentrating on the task at hand…riding the incorrigible beast he now called his own. Arthur had pestered him for days, asking him to tell them whom it was that had stolen the other…if he had found any signs of them along the way.

And at the smallest word of complaint from Tristran about the new horse, Arthur used it as leverage to try to get him to talk. The others looked on in interest. Especially Lancelot, who hated being left in the dark, and Galahad, who didn't know better.

He had been especially patient with Galahad, resisting the urge to clout him smartly about the head, and tell him to leave him alone; no, instead, he humored him, raising an eyebrow when he was questioned, but not giving any answers.

And whenever Tristran had a moment to himself, he pondered on Ina's face, wondered if she had given away any TRUE emotion during their encounter…. he back tracked, and remembered when he had first come upon her…how her face had alighted in surprise, and almost fear.

She had not expected him to return to the stables that much was obvious. Or perhaps, it was because he had caught her readying his horse to ride.

Then she had cared only for the animal…reaching out, and protesting as his horse bucked in distress. Demanding he release her, so the animal would not be harmed.

After that, the emotions had all been false, he concluded. The arrogance…the bitterness. He doubted she was ever dating Mikhil at all. Doubted that she had really cut her hair out of love…or spite of him.

But what still did not make sense to him is what she had done after that…

Allowed him to get close to her…touch her…chase her. He had had one thing on his mind at that time, and he had thought she shared the same thoughts. She had looked so sure, when she stole a gaze over her shoulder as she ran…She had wanted to share a bed with him as well.

He wondered what had gone so horribly wrong that he had not seen it. The deceit in her eyes…the note of it in her voice. But it had been such a long time since he had seen her at all, and he had been determined to make the most of it.

She had betrayed him, and when he found her, she would pay for it. He would make sure of that….

He moved his horse once again off the trail, and slunk into the woods. Once inside, he slipped off of the animal, and began walking slowly, scanning the trees for any unusual markings or signs.

He was at least a mile in when he noticed the small, unobtrusive bits of dyed blue leather.

Woads.

With a gasp of surprise, he quickly and silently turned around and made his way back. There was something wrong here. This was south of the wall, though not by much.

But even so, to leave markings of their habitation meant the _woads_ claimed the territory as their own, and were planning on staying at least for a while. And Tristran had no way of knowing just how long they had been there to begin with.

He mounted his horse again quickly, and galloped back to where his fellow knights had stopped to rest…

OOO

The light hurt her eyes. They felt dry, and were swollen from crying. She cursed her weakness, and was momentarily glad Tristran had never had a chance to see how she really was…vulnerable and afraid.

Just the thought of him made her want to cry once more, as images of his slain horse filled her mind…For the rest of that night the woads had celebrated their sick little sacrifice. Chanting, and laughing, roasting whole deer, and feasting upon them, and all the while she had sat huddled in her cold dark hut and sobbed.

She wondered what had happened to the stallion's body. Already knowing for sure that they had extracted the heart of the animal, and probably decapitated him as well. Using the mane to make charms, and other horrid items. She shivered and pondered on how much she hated it here. Wondered why she didn't just leave.

But she had nothing left in this world. Nothing but a futile hope that as Bajarni grew up, she would look to her for comfort, and truth. She stayed only for her, now. All of her hopes for Henri dashed when she had seen the bow in his hand.

When first she came to be a woad, she had often been given to dreaming that Tristran would find her…take her from this horrid place and people, and promise her that he would marry her when his bondage to the Empire was spent.

She had always awoken with her hope renewed, and everyday she had looked to the horizon, ineffectually looking for a white stallion, bearing upon his back a sharp faced, handsome knight. She had cut her hair only months after being abducted.

She remembered how they had looked at her, when she had emerged. Bajarni had laughed then, clapping her pudgy little hands together and climbing into her arms. She was so innocent…she loved Ina no matter what she did to herself, or what she looked like.

The cut had managed to keep the men away from her as well. Even though she had been a rebellious outsider, some men of the tribes had been eager to take a young virgin to their beds, and renew the blood of their families.

And she had been pretty then too. Sharp faced and dark, all inky hair, and unmarred maidenhood. And her dark, afraid eyes had always been the bait. She had wanted to keep Bajarni too. Hadn't known that if she didn't have a husband, it wouldn't be allowed, or Ina would never have cooperated.

But they snatched the girl from her the morning after. Apparently, they had spent the night looking for a family for Bajarni. Ina didn't require a family…only housing, and perhaps food. And before she had flawed her beauty, tokens of affection had not been in short supply.

But afterwards, they began to laugh at her, finally realizing that it stung her worse then their words of scorn. Bajarni's mother hated her. As did Henri's. And there was nothing she could do about it. Sometimes, when things got too rough on her…she thought of participating during Beltane, and hopefully getting pregnant from the experience.

A child would love her no matter what. But she had always decided against it. She was saving her maidenhood for Tristran. And she would have rather fantasized over the child they might someday have, then be stuck with the squalling offspring of some traitorous woad. And so she waited.

Ina swallowed a sob as she realized that now, that dream would never be a reality. She had made sure of it herself. And the dying screams of an innocent animal…her last hope of rescue, rang in her ears once more.

She shivered and brushed herself off…when her hands struck the dried blood and filth, she realized how she must look, and every exposed bit of her skin chafed and itched. She peeled the dirty clothing away and changed her underlinen. After sliding into a new skirt, and a dark blue shirt and leather tunic, she flaked the blood off of her skin.

There was no way she would stoop to begging for water to wash herself. Not now…not after what they had done to her. She would try now to take as little from them as possible. But she would still claim what they owed her…she would get her tattoo tonight….

With a sigh, she shielded her eyes with a hand and crouching to avoid hitting her head on the doorframe, then emerged into the light, already planning out how she was going to ask Merlin for her tattoo after last night's behavior.

Ina groaned as the sunlight turned it's full force on her, and cursed as she moved her hand so her eyes could adjust. Still walking, and not watching where she was going, she was no more than two paces outside before she ran into someone.

Brilliant bursts of pain erupted in her vision, and she was thrown flat on her back with the impact. Struggling to refill her lungs and get up, she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

"Oh, gods..." she groaned, wiping the blood from beneath her nose, and knowing that she made her face that much more of a mess by doing so.

The person who had toppled her was standing in front of her, shielding most of the sun, and babbling what must be apologies in woad. He was tall, and square shouldered, with a red blond beard and striking yellow hair that was braided, and tied into ceremonial knots. His blue eyes stared at her openly.

Ina's skin pricked under his gaze, and the word SAXON was being screamed over and over in her mind. But this man spoke woad too well to be a foreigner.

She scowled at him despite his sunny good looks, and told him in one of the only woadish sentences she knew "I do not speak woad"

He stared at her blankly, thinking what she had just told him impossible, but the look on her face told him it was the truth. He spoke slowly to her instead, still in woad, thinking that perhaps she could not translate when he spoke so rapidly.

Ina gaped at him, brows knit, and wondered what was the matter with him. Instead of even trying to comprehend what he was saying, she just tried to push past him and make her way towards Merlin's abode.

He moved to block her, and when she tried to go around him, he grasped her by the shoulder, almost hard enough to bruise. He hurriedly tied to speak to her again, but she only answered with a shout of "I DO NOT SPEAK WOAD!"

The man looked distraught, and turned to the on lookers for help. He spat out a sentence in woad, and suddenly Henri, or Broc as the others knew him, appeared.

At the sight of him, Ina sighed in relief, and said in common, "Tell him to let me go, Henri, or I swear I'll remove the hand that's touching me..."

The lanky youth smiled, and turning to the man, told him what Ina had said.

The Saxon look-alike only shook his head, and said something gruffly in woad. Henri looked surprised, and his eyebrows disappeared underneath his bangs. Ignoring Ina, he asked something in woad, and his face looked crestfallen when he received an answer.

He turned solemnly to Ina, and said quietly in common, " He says he doesn't have to let you go. You are his property, his wife."

Ina felt as if she was still gasping for breath after her fall. His WIFE? No...no that was impossible. Oh no...Her stomach began to sink. Perhaps Merlin had tricked her again...

"He can't be my husband, I did not marry him. I don't even know his name." She replied stubbornly, hiding her fear.

Henri told him so, to the man's obvious discomfort. He answered curtly in woad, and when he was done, his grip tightened on Ina's arm.

"He says that no, you wouldn't know his name. The maiden who brings the stallion to be sacrificed does not know her husband's name at all until after they are married. But he also says, since the deed is done, his name is Lucca. And yours must be Sarma."

Henri looked a bit surprised when he relayed the message, as if he did not know of this ritual either. But he accepted it. After all, he was still young, and unlearned in all the ways of his clan.

But Ina was another story. She glared at her captor, and twisted out of his hold. Pointing at him she said his name, "Lucca?"

He nodded vigorously, and with a smile, reached a hand out towards her. Ina shied out of his reach, as shaky as a new foal. But she pointed to herself with strength and said firmly, "Inara."

Lucca looked confused, and angry. He shook his head no, pointed at her and said just as firmly as she had, "Sarma."

Ina spat on the ground and pointing to herself once more said, "I.N.A.R.A!"

And before Lucca could answer, Merlin pushed his way through the crowd and into their sight, staff in hand...

OOO

"Tristran, are you absolutely sure?" Arthur asked again.

And Tristran had to momentarily pause, to avoid shouting. "Yes. I saw both old and new signs of their settlement, Arthur. I am sure that they have been there for some time."

He excused his partial lie, and told himself that he WOULD in fact, find Ina within the Pictish camp.

When he had been reminiscing about their meeting, his mind had stuck on her clothes. She had worn nothing but a plain green skirt, a thin white shirt and her cloak...Naught else but her shoes.

That told him that she was close to her residence. No one would dress so frivolously else wise. That fact coupled with his knowledge of having seen countless women involved in Pictish sacrifices, and ceremonies dressed the same way, told him all that he needed to know...

"Well then, what are we waitin for? Let's go bash some skulls." Said Bors, pulling out his knuckle-dusters, a morbid grin on his face. Galahad cringed and looked away, a hand going to the scar by his temple.

"We do not know if they are peaceful, or warring. They may have women and children with them, if they have set up camp without fighting reasons." Answered Arthur logically.

"Aw, who cares? A woad is a woad is a woad. They're all the bloody same in my eyes." Answered Bors, angrily.

"I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands." Arthur said again, looking at them all in turn. "OUR hands." He added, as Bors opened his mouth to protest.

"Arthur's right." Commented Lancelot dryly. "Why should we look to do Rome favors by clearing their land out of people we were not ordered too? We are only miles from the next town, and I, myself would rather like to enjoy my stay at the inns, not be nursing wounds in a cold bed."

The others grinned at that, though Bors still looked sullen, like a child denied of a favorite sweet. Lancelot smirked at him, which spurred his anger more, and the larger built man gripped the hilt of his sword.

Lancelot snapped his gaze back to Arthur, and added, "Besides, I thought we still needed to find Tristran a decent mount. I wouldn't want to ride into battle, even if it were only with women and children...on such a horse as _that_." He pointedly took in the shape of Tristran's gelding.

Tristran glared at him, willing him to flinch, or look away, but Lancelot just smiled, damn him. Trust that young rooster to ruin his only chance of revenge Tristran thought angrily. But there was nothing he could do now. Not unless he wished to expose himself...

He nodded instead, in agreement with the others. And Arthur looked relieved. Tristran momentarily wondered how a man who had taken so many lives could be so soft half of the time. But then the sunlight glinted off of Excalibur and Tristran recalled how deadly Arthur was with his father's sword in hand...

With a sigh, he kicked his horse into a trot, and moved to follow the others...

OOO


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

"Merlin! What madness is this?" Ina hissed quietly, stalking up to the aging man and pointing at Lucca. "My _husband_?" She said through clenched teeth.

Merlin gazed at her levelly, and said something quietly over her shoulder to Lucca. The blonde woad moved silently away, a scowl on his face.

"Yes."

Ina was stunned. It was too early for this, she thought, clutching at her head, and running a hand through her hair. It was getting long again, she noticed, it was about time for another cut...

"He cannot be my husband. I did not assent to marrying him." She said logically, crossing her arms in front of her to keep from fidgeting.

"You brought the stallion to be sacrificed, did you not? You willingly accepted my wishes to capture the stallion, did you not?" Asked Merlin calmly.

Ina was horrified; he _had_ tricked her. She gaped at him and felt a scream clawing its way up the back of her throat. "I...I did not know what I was doing. I would not have willingly brought that animal to its death...nor ever willingly bound myself to that great Saxon of a man. You tricked me." She said flatly.

Merlin smiled. "I admit, I did deceive you. But, did you not also keep something from me as well?"

She knew what he meant. Tristran. She scowled at him, "You are not my keeper, old man. I do not have to tell you anything, albeit everything."

"Ahhh... you confess it. You did keep something from me." He said softly, with an edge of power.

Ina shivered as she pictured a large serpent before her...coiled softly, poised to strike, and staring at her out of calm gold-brown eyes.

"I kept nothing from you." She said, but her confidence was wavering. The snake would soon have her within its coils.

"You lie. You knew whose horse you would steal, and you went willingly, praying for an encounter. You knew that it was no scout's horse...But the mount of a Knight. A very important knight in _your_ eyes..."

It was only years of trained custom that kept her from leaping upon him, and striking him to the ground. She dropped her arms to her sides instead, and flinched as her nails bit into her fisted palms. She shook her head in quiet fury and kept silent.

Merlin seemed pleased. Perhaps he thought he was finally bending her to his will. But obviously, she had been short slighting the man since she had met him, so she could only think that he knew how she really felt, and was only biding his time.

"Therefore, you _are_ married to Lucca. You performed your required services willingly, and are rightfully his. You shall pack your things within the hour, and move yourself where he bids you move." Merlin said, a bit smugly.

Hate and rage boiled within her breast. Merlin had done this to her. Had made sure she would not be rescued. Had doomed her to this fate.

And someday, she vowed, he would pay for it...

But today, Ina bent her head and turned away. If she was a bride, she was a mighty poor one. With the large gash across her cheek, and her bloody nose and filthy skin. But why should she care? She did not willingly want to marry Lucca, nor would she.

Suddenly she made the decision to leave. It was time she left. PAST time, Ina told herself. And Merlin's orders to pack her things made what she was about to do look perfectly normal.

She smiled to herself, and realized that she was not defeated. She still had a choice. But then her logic caught up with her, and she realized that even when she did leave, she had nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

She thought of going back to the Knights. Then reconsidered the thought, and stomped on it. They would kill her. Or, Tristran would. In a matter of seconds, she thought grimly, he would see the guilt written on her forehead in his stallion's blood, and there would be no need for petty trials. She would be dead.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she squinted into the sky, pretending the sun made her cry, before swiping a hand angrily across her lids and stomping back towards her shambles of a home. The sun had sufficiently blinded her she realized, as she stooped to enter her little hut, and her eyes tried vainly to adjust.

Her heart nearly jumped from beneath her ribs as she took in the burly shape of the man within, and his arm snaked out to grab her. His hand across her mouth silenced her scream before it touched the air, and light flared in her vision as he struck a heavy handed blow across the back of the head. She dropped into his arms, limp and quiet without further struggle.

OOO

Tristran's mood was foul. He lashed out at those who came near and spent the hours they had been in the Inn, drinking and carving into the wood nearest him with one of his many daggers. Galahad sat near, and cast a wary eye on him as he slashed and cut into the rim of the bar.

He wanted desperately to stop him, reach over and take the knife from his hand, but he had a feeling that if he did so, it would be he who lost something...Probably his own hand, or at least a couple of fingers.

So he just sighed and turned his attention elsewhere. Allowing it to come to rest on Gawain, who was brawling quite loudly with the seeming husband of the woman to his left. She was a wanton creature, with a tight bodice and a low tunic. And she watched the fight with a smile.

Galahad shouted encouragement and Gawain answered with what could be none other that a muted bellow for help as he tried to unpin himself from beneath his opponent's bulk. Galahad laughed, and happily joined the fray.

Lancelot slid smoothly into the seat he had just abandoned, and stared at Tristran through ale-brightened eyes.

"So...who took your bloody horse, hmm? I know you know who..." He paused as he fished for the right words, "took it. Now, come, tell me. I've had enough of your . . . secrets." He slurred with a smile on his face.

Tristran's eyes flashed angrily at the other knight and he contemplated the urge to push Lancelot off of his stool, but thought better of it and kept still and silent. He drained the remainder of ale from his mug instead.

Lancelot placed a hand amiably on his fellow's shoulder and said again, "Come on, brother! Just tell me already! It...it cannot be that horrible...righ'?"

Tristran jerked his shoulder away. "No." He said simply.

"Ahhh...is that a 'no' you DON'T know who took the beast, or 'NO' you won't tell me?"

Tristran pulled his lips back in grimace and swallowed angry words. Even smashingly drunk, Lancelot was still surprisingly quick witted. Tristran shrugged, and forced a smile. "I am not so sure myself, Lancelot. If you are so clever, why don't you tell me?"

Lancelot's eyes brightened the more, and his grin turned sly. "It was her? Wasn't it?" He said slowly, reaching to take hold of Tristran's shoulder once more.

Tristran's heart lurched as he stared at the fiendish eyes of his fellow. His tongue felt thick and coated, and he couldn't force his throat to expel the words he so desperately needed to say. Lancelot took his silence for approval nonetheless, and continued.

"It _was_ her...That shorthaired wench from the last village. She wouldn't have any of us..." He licked his lips, "She practically laid Gawain flat when he touched her... Though I'd bet my life she knew who we were. I saw her leave...I followed her...out..." Lancelot's smile was touched with more than a little malice by now, as he still continued to babble.

But he spoke truth, and Tristran couldn't tear his eyes away, couldn't force himself to tell him to quiet. His mouth felt drier, and his hand clenched around the hilt of his dagger.

Lancelot laughed, "I saw you chase after her through those woods...Your wolf to her deer...I wonder...did you ever catch her?"

And then Tristran just could help himself. He dropped his dagger, and swung at Lancelot with all of his strength behind the blow.

OOO

Woot. Review if you feel up to it.

PLK


End file.
